


golden

by onceuponamoon



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Getting Together, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oblivious Jack, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, except there is plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 18:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5465801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponamoon/pseuds/onceuponamoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distantly, he’s thinking about how the sunlight streaming through the window has colored Bittle golden, how his eyelashes are translucent, his understated muscles glisten just the slightest bit in the spring heat, enough to make Jack’s fingers itch for his camera.</p>
            </blockquote>





	golden

**Author's Note:**

> the working title was "the one where jack walks in on bitty" so if that's not your thing, exit posthaste. unbeta'd. full of feelings.

There’s always some kind of music coming from wherever Bittle is, whether it’s from the iPod doc in the kitchen, headphones, or Bittle’s own lungs, _something_ is always pumping out one of those soulful women’s songs. 

Which is probably why, when Jack gets home from his 8AM lecture with an urge to go for a run before maybe sneaking a peanut butter cookie, he doesn’t think anything of it when he goes to knock on Bittle’s door to see if he wants to come with. There’s music playing and it’s loud enough that Jack’s not sure if Bittle could hear him, so he knocks again and opens the door enough to stick his head in, expecting Bittle to be seated at his desk and working on homework or maybe on his bed scrolling through comments on his vlog.

Only.

Instead of either of those things, Bittle’s lying on his back with an arm slung over his forehead and the other – the other’s moving. It’s moving in a way that is a pretty clear indication of what Bittle’s doing, but. 

Jack’s caught.

Distantly, he’s thinking about how the sunlight streaming through the window has colored Bittle golden, how his eyelashes are translucent, his understated muscles glisten just the slightest bit in the spring heat, enough to make Jack’s fingers itch for his camera. The word “beautiful” is so overused in the hockey world, but it’s the only adjective Jack has swirling around his brain as he watches the way Bittle’s stomach flexes in counterpart with his bicep, the way his throat works as he tosses his face towards the window and away from where Jack’s looking through the cracked door. All he can think of is the composition, the lines and angles and warm colors that just make him think, yes. _This_ is Bittle.

And then Jack starts because. _This is Bittle_.

_Shit._

Just as he’s thinking, _calisse de crisse de ostie, get out while you can, Zimmermann_ , Bittle makes a hitching, whiny gasp that –

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bittle exclaims.

And Jack’s. Jack’s, “Sorry! Sorry, _tabarnak_ ,” rushing into action, trying to slam the door and flee to his room – but of course the grace and coordination he has on the ice doesn’t translate off of it when he needs it to. He hits his nose, his elbow, _and_ his knee hard on the edge of the door. Hard enough that he might be bleeding.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he breathes, dizzy with pain. “I’m – sorry, Bittle.”

“No!” Bittle practically shouts, and then quieter, “Jack, _please_.”

And – what. _What?_ “Uh.” 

Bittle’s eyes are so wide; the sunlight slants in just perfectly, turning the dark brown into some molten and bright, argent with desperation and…something else. “Please, Jack, I –” Bittle swallows, the bob of his throat catching Jack’s eye before Bittle’s bicep flexes again. His voice isn’t audible above the music, but Jack can clearly read the, “ _please_ ,” on his lips.

Slowly, Eric starts stroking himself, watching Jack’s face with his bottom lip between his teeth. It pops free, shiny-wet and red the color of apples he uses in his pies. 

Jack’s knees shake and he – he closes the door. 

He shuts himself inside.

He forgets all at once about his throbbing nose.

Eric smiles and Jack – he stutter-steps towards the bed, unsure and anxious, heart pounding its way into his throat, nervous in a way he hasn’t been since –

“Yeah,” Eric breathes, still grinning brighter than the sunlight striping his face, “Come here.”

His hand curls around the back of Jack’s neck, thumb scritching its way over sensitive skin into his hair; Eric’s grip is firm, sure, and it’s just what Jack needs to be able to convince himself that this is okay. Eric wants this. 

Eric wants _him_.

“Bitty,” Jack breathes, watching as Eric gives a full-bodied shiver, eyes never leaving Jack’s. They’re close enough together that Jack can feel Eric’s breath puff across his chin. He doesn’t – _can’t_ – wait another second.

If asked, Jack wouldn’t have ever thought that Eric would be the one to take control of a kiss. That presumption would’ve been wrong, of course, because Eric has no compunctions about dragging Jack down on top of him, tonguing along Jack’s bottom row of teeth and sucking on Jack’s tongue while his hands roam. There’s no hesitance in the way Eric’s body rolls against Jack’s in this sinuous, sinful motion that kills Jack’s breath in its tracks – but Eric coaxes it back out with soft suction on Jack’s lower lip that breaks off when Eric grins.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” are not the words Jack’s expecting from Eric’s mouth, but there they are, and _oh_ , okay, they make Jack tremble. Eric presses another kiss to Jack’s lips, sipping, then pulls back, eyeing Jack. “Do you – I know it’s a little late, but – is this okay?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jack says; he’s never been so sure of something in his life aside from hockey. But Eric and hockey go hand in hand. This is a natural extension, just like –

Jack takes a deep, steadying breath. He closes his eyes, forehead tilted against Eric’s. He presses a kiss to Eric’s lips, pulls back, blinks back to see Eric’s furrowed brow. 

“I’m okay.” He runs his thumb across Eric’s lip, watches the way they pucker.

“Good,” Eric says, “’cause I – Jack. I really wanna do this with you. And not just –” Eric breaks off, _blushes_ , which is a little ridiculous considering the circumstances. “Not just ‘cause I, uh, got started by myself.”

It startles a laugh out of Jack. “That’s – good to know,” he admits.

Jack takes initiative; he kisses Eric, coaxing his lips apart so he can do a little familiarizing. It’s comfortable, almost in the same way as being on the ice with him, like what they do together is natural and _good_. They’re a productive team. Jack’s – maybe he should stop thinking about hockey metaphors and focus on the task at hand.

So to speak.

He huffs a laugh against Eric’s lips, answers, “Nothing,” when Eric asks a gentle, “What?” 

It’s all too easy to trail a hand down the warm, soft and bare skin of Eric’s neck down to his chest. Jack’s thumb grazes a nipple and Eric gasps into his mouth, tightens a hand in Jack’s hair. Jack does it again and earns a moan.

“ _Ouais_ ,” Jack says against Eric’s mouth before delving deeper, anchoring a hand on Eric’s bare hip before taking a tilt, rolling them so that Jack’s lying back with Eric’s weight on top of him, twisted in the sheets tangled up between them. 

Eric’s palms are braced against Jack’s chest, brands Jack wants to feel against his bare skin instead of through his shirt. His chest and stomach heave; his lips are so wet – _Jack_ did that to him. Eric’s hair slips across his forehead. 

“Want to look at you like this forever,” Jack says between a pair of kisses, as he drags his hand down Eric’s chest. “You look like an angel like this. All lit up like you’re glowing. Was thinking before…could take a picture, but I don’t know if it would actually capture this.”

“English, Mr. Zimmermann,” Eric says and – Jack didn’t even realize. “If you’re dirty-talkin’ you can be damn sure I wanna know what you’re sayin’.” 

“Sorry,” Jack breathes.

“By all means,” Eric says, mouth tilting in a tiny smirk, “No need to stop.” He punctuates the statement with a grind, this filthy little roll of his hips that makes Jack’s chest pound.

“ _Merde_ ,” Jack groans. “You’re still so hard.”

Eric huffs a laugh, tangles his hand deeper into Jack’s hair. “’Course I am. You’re in here,” he says like it’s obvious, “and you’re kissin’ me.” He presses their chests together, so warm and close; Jack really wants his shirt gone. He wants to _feel_. “Can’t hardly believe this is happenin’. Think I might wake up any second now.”

Feeling ornery, Jack slides his hand down Eric’s hip, pinching the skin right above the pert, fleshy curve of Eric’s ass. He bites down on a laugh when Eric yelps, rearing back to shoot Jack an incredulous look. “Looks like you’re awake.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Eric giggles, covering his mouth until they subside. He smacks the back of his hand against Jack’s chest. “I cannot believe you did that.”

Jack takes Eric by the wrist, brings it to his mouth, presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Want me to kiss it better?”

Eric stills. “ _Oh_.” His fingers dig into Jack’s chest. “Have you – have you done that before?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Eric says again, quieter. “And you…you want to. Do that. To me?”

Jack could almost cry at how earnest Eric’s expression is, like he’s trying to hide all of the want. Jack doesn’t even bother. “ _Yes_.” He slips a hand back beneath the sheet, palms Eric’s ass in a way that he hadn’t realized he’d been wanting. “I’ll – I want to do that to you. If you’d like me to.”

Eric groans, listing to the side before catching himself on the mattress. “ _Fuck_ ,” Eric enthuses, “I’d – yeah. You can. You can definitely do that. That’s fine by me. Definitely.”

A kiss interrupts the impending ramble, Jack’s lips softly molding against Eric’s with just enough pressure to allow Eric to keep talking if he so pleases. Jack doesn’t really like the idea of kissing someone to shut them up, because agency and voice are two of the most important things he’s learned to value ever since he’d started therapy. He likes kissing, though, and he likes the feel of Eric in his lap. He wants more. Asserting himself, letting his wants be known, isn’t something to feel guilty about even if it’s something he has to keep reminding himself.

“Christ,” Eric says after another series of light, chaste kisses. “I want – I want _everything_ , but. Yeah. Can you…?”

“Not like this,” Jack says, giving Eric’s ass another squeeze. “But yeah. C’mon.”

They rearrange themselves, getting distracted by kisses again and again until even Jack feels like he’s edging into blue-balls territory. Eric looks smaller, almost vulnerable with his back turned to Jack – but then he looks over his shoulder, smiles in a way that’s more reassuring than, like, _sexy_ , and Jack’s concerns are abated. 

“ _Crisse_ ,” Jack breathes, “you’re gorgeous.” He strips his shirt off, tosses it to the floor, and scoots closer to get his hands back on Eric’s skin.

“How can you even _say_ that right now?” Eric says before turning his face into the pillow, hiding his wide eyes after they rove Jack’s torso.

Jack bends over him, watching Eric’s back flex as he runs his hands down Eric’s slender sides. He presses a flurry of kisses across Eric’s shoulders, reaching around to give Eric’s cock a few customary strokes as his lips drag farther and farther down. Eric’s cock is velvety soft in Jack’s palm; he gives a shiver when Jack thumbs just beneath the head, uncut unlike his own. There’s probably more friction than Jack himself is used to, but Eric’s still a little wet, probably from lotion or lube or – he buries his face against Eric’s back, cock twitching hard in his shorts.

“You – do you have any lube?” Jack asks.

“No, I –” Eric’s words cut off with a moan when Jack gives another pointed, slightly rough stroke. “It’s nice like this.”

“Okay.”

Thoughts settled, Jack’s focus returns to the expanse of smooth, sun-kissed skin at his disposal and then the paler, milky white skin just below that. His hands go first, carving out a path for his lips, keeping surprise at bay so that anticipation can brace Eric for what’s coming. 

“Tell me if – if it’s something you don’t like.” Jack offers, “We can always do something else. Or nothing, if that’s what you want. Or if –”

“ _Jack_ ,” Eric says, looking at him over his shoulder, and then quieter, “Please. I trust you. More’n anyone. But if you don’t do somethin’, and quick, my dick might actually fall off.”

Jack buries his laugh into Eric’s skin and then gets down to business.

The moment Jack’s lips press to Eric’s tailbone, Eric jolts like he’s been checked and Jack’s almost afraid he’s going to react exactly the same – but he doesn’t. Jack pauses after that single brush of his lips, waits just long enough for Eric to groan and melt into his bed. It makes Jack smile again, briefly, because he really does want – he _wants_.

He thumbs over Eric’s hole, memorizing the rough texture, the way it tenses reflexively and then relaxes when he keeps rubbing in soothing circles. It doesn’t take a lot of pressure to coax the muscle looser, and by the time Jack leans in and laves a wide stripe from the pucker straight up to Eric’s tailbone, Eric groans loud enough for Jack to hear it very clearly over the music – and that really grounds him in the present.

It’s not like he’s operating through a ‘lusty haze’ or whatever, but Eric’s noise – and the way he gives a little twitch of his hips, pushing back like he can’t help it – is enough to remind him that. That they’re potentially _not_ alone in the Haus.

Jack pets over Eric’s left hip, asks, “Need me to turn the music up louder?”

“No,” Eric says – _pants_ , really. “I’m – I’ll be quieter, sorry. I didn’t – that feels a lot better’n I was expectin’; Jack can you please –”

Jack _lives_ to please. 

He laughs against Eric’s skin when Eric gives another full-bodied jolt, but this time he keeps going, licking him wet and open while reaching around to stroke his cock with the hand not anchored on Eric’s hip. Eric’s fingers tangle with Jack’s. Jack doesn’t slow down, doesn’t stop to breathe even when he feels himself getting a little light-headed; he’s enjoying it too much to even _care_.

Eric’s gasping, loud and throaty, but somehow still delicate with the way it hitches and peters off before coming back full force. His fingers tighten and Jack squeezes just, “Like that, like that, _fuck_ ,” Eric groans, pushing his face back into the pillow. “More, _faster_ – c’mon, Jack, please.”

Releasing Jack’s fingers to slam a palm against the mattress, brace himself and push back against Jack’s mouth, Eric shouts into the tangle of fabric and comes, hot and wet all over Jack’s hand while his hole twitches like crazy against Jack’s mouth.

“ _Tabarnak_ ,” Jack groans, stroking Eric through it as he peppers kisses up the ridges and valleys of Eric’s back.

It doesn’t take a lot of coaxing to get Eric to lie on his side, so Jack spoons up behind him, lets his hand trace sticky patterns across the sharp cut of Eric’s hip and groin, feeling really _present_ in a way he hasn’t felt off the ice in almost longer than he can remember. He kisses Eric’s neck, listening to his breathing go from frantic to even – and then Eric turns in his hold, looking at Jack with wide, sparkling eyes the color of molten chocolate and flushed, rosy cheeks; he’s smiling. 

“That was – Lord Almighty, Jack, I didn’t know that – that _that_ could be so.” Eric busses a kiss across Jack’s mouth, dragging his lips down to Jack’s chin, up to Jack’s cheek, nuzzling closer and squeezing himself tighter to Jack. “Can I – is it alright if I – I have condoms.”

Jack shudders, cock twitching very obviously against Eric’s thigh. 

“Oh, my,” Eric says, delight in his voice, “Um. But. What do you want?”

A little bit of friction, the drag of skin against skin, a hand, his mouth – Jack would literally be happy with anything. It’s not going to take much, though, so he admits, “I’m already close,” before he presses a kiss to Eric’s mouth, tangles his fingers with Eric’s and brings his hand down into the tight squeeze between their bodies. “This?”

Eric grins. “I can do that,” he says, sounding sincere more than smug. “I’ll take good care of you.”

And – wow, it’s a hell of a time to have a revelation, but. Jack realizes that…that Eric always _does_ take good care of him. He takes care of everyone, all the time, making sure they’re fed and as stress-free as possible whether through baking them all their favorite treats or singing into a wooden spoon while twirling around the kitchen, dragging whoever’ll do it into dancing with him. He’s this – this _wholesome_ , incredible, caring individual and he. 

He makes Jack feel _alive_. Has ever since they got put on the same line and Coach told him he’d never played better than when they were playing together.

Jack has no clue what’s showing in his expression, but Eric smiles reassuringly before he presses the gentlest of kisses to Jack’s lips, twists his wrist just so, and –

Jack comes, shuddering and shaking and spilling into the cup of Eric’s hand inside his shorts.

Eric’s so great with the way he stops stroking just before Jack gets too sensitive to handle it, with the way he kisses Jack’s lips and cheeks and eyelids, with the way he holds Jack while he shakes. He doesn’t stop holding Jack and that’s – that’s more than Jack’s ever had. It means a lot.

Breath slowing, Jack thinks, _I’m in love with Bittle_ , and leans back to stare at Eric’s ceiling, spotted with old water damage the way half the Haus is. Eric curls into his side, clearly watching Jack’s face; waiting patiently. But there’s. That’s a lot to think about. Because how long has he been in love with Bittle? Did it start sometime around that class they took together? Or was it before that, because of their hockey? Maybe it was sometime between coffee dates – well, retrospective dates – or that time Eric sat outside of Jack’s locked door while he shook and cried and couldn’t breathe on the other side of it after Parse left a wake of scathing words and resultant anxiety. Taking care of him, being near him, not touching but being _there_ when Jack was lost inside his head.

Eric’s always there.

Jack doesn’t know exactly, but he is sure of the love he feels. He is just as sure of his answer when Eric asks, “You okay?” all full of concern and self-doubt.

“I’m pretty sure that was the best sex I’ve ever had,” Jack answers, bringing the hand Eric has resting on Jack’s chest up for a kiss. He feels his filter fall away, his thoughts bubbling to the surface as Eric grins like the eastern sun that’s still warming their skin. “Want to go get coffee and then come back and do it again?”

Eric laughs – and that’s all Jack wants. More of that.

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr](http://onceuponamoonfic.tumblr.com)


End file.
